What's In a Name?
by Mochoa1994
Summary: Mundane AU "'Promise me. Promise me you will do this.' I nod slowly, eyes still locked on his. I don't even know his name." Warning: SH


**AU: Clary and Jace are mundanes. "'Promise me. Promise me you will do this.' I nod slowly, eyes still locked on his. I don't even know his name."**

Books and homework in hand, I head up to the New York Public Library. I like to do my homework here when I need a quiet place to study.

I make my way to the back corner, my favorite spot. A small table with one chair. Secluded. Little to no one can see me here unless they're using the biography section. Honestly though, who actually reads biographies?

The Library's a little more crowded than usual, but my spot is still empty; the librarian knows me by name, so I think she had something to do with it. I suppose its finals week.

As I set my books and bag and butt down, I notice that my sleeve has traveled up a little revealing the scarred skin underneath. I started cutting a long time ago. I can't talk to my mom, Simon doesn't understand, and I don't have any other friends. So I cut to take away the pain. It helps, I suppose. But it's embarrassing.

I quickly pull down my sleeve and glance around, making sure no one saw it. Satisfied that no one had, I turn back to my work.

Out of nowhere, a boy about my age comes from back of me and grabs hold of my wrist. I struggle as he lifts up my sleeve, but his grip is viselike. I glance up to his face and find that he is extremely beautiful. I momentarily forget what his hands are doing to see blonde hair, gold eyes, and a gold complexion. He looks like an angel.

His eyes catch mine and I look down at my arm. My shirt sleeve is lifted up to my elbow. I cringe away from the sight of the not-quite-healed-scars of earlier this morning and struggle again to pull my sleeve down.

The boy uses his free hand to lift up his own sleeve. His arm is covered in scars as well. Well, more like the trace reminders of a battered and bloody past. Thin white lines mar his flawless skin in ways that shouldn't be legal. He was too perfect, too beautiful to have a tortured past.

I stare at it for a moment, tears welling in my eyes. This boy—no, man—hasn't uttered a word to me, yet he has said so much.

I look up to find his eyes on my scars. He takes my forearm and brings it to his lips. He kisses every single one of them. Every single scar.

My mouth hang agape. No one has ever seen my scars, let alone kissed them. And to know that he has been through the same psychological torment as I have just makes the gesture so much more meaningful.

I am speechless. I can't breathe.

"I saw them. You didn't think I saw, but I did. I know what it's like. Hiding. Hiding the pain, the scars, the suicidal thoughts. I know how hard it is. And I don't want you to go through that. It's not fair."

His gaze drops and I see a tear fall from his face.

He releases my arm and takes one of my pens. He scratches something on the paper, but I'm too focused on willing myself not to cry to take notice.

"This is my number. Call or text me the next time you feel the urge. I will help you get through this. You are too beautiful, strong, and amazing to have something like this end your days."

He folds the paper and puts it in my hands, closing them between his. His gaze catches mine in a grip I don't want to break. "Promise me. Promise me you will do this."

I knew that if a single word escaped my mouth, the tears would push their way forward as well. I nod slowly, eyes still locked on his.

He smiles slightly and leans forward to plant a kiss on my forehead, a gesture that, aside from my mother and Luke, no one had ever done before. He wraps his arms around me, and after a startled second, I return the hug.

"Thank you." I hear.

He releases me and leaves, without a trace.

I'm left sitting in my favorite spot, clutching a phone number of whom I know nothing about, waiting to start my homework.

I glance at the clock. Mother won't be home for another hour. I quickly gather my things and hurry home.

My mind is reeling.

I know so much about this man.

Yet, I don't even know his name.


End file.
